She'd win no prize for vampish eyes;
Her freckles mar her beauty.
Here's to her! Her specs! Her brain!
I pledge her health in water!
Cool, sober, staid, a precious maid;
I love her--like a daughter!
She keeps my creditors at bay,
Admitting only debtors;
Collects the rent when she is sent,
Or writes dry business letters;
She always puts her fingers on
The paper I require;
Sums I can't add she's always glad
To do, and doesn't tire.
Here's to her bonny, busy hands!
They never are erratic.
I hope that they will type away
For years, nor grow rheumatic!
Here's to her modest salary!
(I'd blush if I should tell it!)
But for her grit I'd have to quit
My business--couldn't sell it.
_--Stanley R. Hofflund_.
A Chicago banker dictating a letter to his stenographer. "Tell Mr.
Soandso," he ordered, "that I will meet him in Schenectady."
"How do you spell Schenectady?" asked the stenographer.
"S-c, S-c--er--er--er--- Tell him I'll meet him in Albany."
Stenographers can nod sometimes, even with the accuracy of the
dictating machine. Recently a merchant dictating into one of these
machines said:
"The gentleman in question has sold our products in Hayti for a period
of over two years, and we have always found him satisfactory in every
detail.
Pages:
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604